Manna's Shorts
by may8699
Summary: A collection of Harry Potter themed one-shots ranging from cute and fluffy to serious themed. Ok so they are mostly serious trauma themed.
1. I Win

'I do not own any of the Harry Potter names, likenesses, nor locations. All are property of JK Rowling

{~*~}

"How dare you!" Hermione shrieked at him.

"How dare I? How dare I? You filthy vile mudblood atrocity," but his words were cut short as Hermione let out another shriek of annoyance.

"I'm vile? I guess you would say that considering you can't even attempt to compete with this mudblood as you've so elegantly put it. How is it with my lesser blood status," the venom dripping from her every word," is able to out cast every spell you attempt? Every damned potion you try to brew I make one hundred times better? Vile? No, I'm not vile but you are insignificant if the only words you can muster to use against me are that rudimentary."

Draco was furious at her words and implications. Who was she to try and berate him, make him feel as though he weren't above her in every way imaginable. He would show her and her insufferable know it all demeanour. The slight tinge of anger was slowly fading from his pale complexion as he eased his facade back into slight indifference mixed with loathing. He smoothed the platinum colored hair back from his brow where it had become ever so slightly disheveled during the argument, that he felt he would win, as he took a haughty step towards her.

Hermione was not going to be intimidated by this pompous pious insignificant git that thought he could advance on her. She was a war hero. She was hardened by courage and forged in fire. She was Gryffindor and she had said her piece. Far as she was concerned this argument was over and he had no right to try to continue it. She pivoted on her heel to leave the classroom where they had their row away from the gossiping hoards of students and faculty. She was not prepared for his advancement on her from across the room.

Draco's hand grabbed her wrist at the same time his other hand landed soundly on the heavy wooden door. Turning her to face him he was momentarily shocked at the look on her face. Where he was hoping that she would have fear or intimation within her expression it was instead cold and calculating. Almost devoid to an extent.

"I'm not done talking with you," Draco said through clenched teeth, his silver grey eyes shimmering with malice and determination to make this witch fear him as she should. She had no right, in his mind, to traipse through the hallowed halls of this school as if she belonged here. Sure she had magical abilities but she still was not worthy, she never would be.

"You would do well to let go of me this instant Malfoy, lest this slip up be reported to Wizengmont. We all know they only allowed you back here under the agreement of your father and mother betraying the rest of the Death Eaters that weren't vanquished. Or do you need an even better reminder of your new" she wasn't able to finish her sentence as Draco placed a Silencio on her. Oh he was going to pay for that one.

She drew her free hand back to strike him and as she almost made contact he restrained that wrist as well. Her normally Amber shaded eyes burned with a loathing that darkened them to an unfathomable black and her inherent magic crackled around them splintering the door behind her back where she was pushed up against it.

Draco leaned in closer to her face so that he could make sure the intensity of what he had to say to her would not be mistaken. He would remind her of who she was dealing with and as he was about to speak Hermione did something that she knew would sully his name and reputation. It was meant to jar him to his bone and to keep the revolting words from leaving his mouth. She closed the gap and placed her mouth on his.

In that moment both of their magic flared with a blinding intensity. The look of horror she was expecting did not occur, instead mortified satisfaction was there ever so fleetingly. He wasn't supposed to return the furtive kiss, but he did. If she wanted to play that game he would make her lose because this was all about winning, about her learning her place after all.

He tightened his grasp on her wrists digging his immaculate fingernails into the soft flesh, but she dares not flinch dared not let him win. When he did not back away she dragged her tongue across his lower lip. That action sent a shiver down his spine and caused the blinding magic to escalate once more. This was infuriating he could not lose this game with her and so he pressed his hips into her, applying more pressure on her and the door.

Fine, she was going to play along. At this point she would not mind leaving him in a state of anguish at his revolting behaviour. She tipped her hips into him feeing the unmistakable presence of his erection. She licked his lip again and gave it a slight nip. The throaty growl that left him held so much lust Hermione almost forgot the nature of this game. She had to win.

Only a handful of professors knew she was talented in wordless magic. She had spent the better part of the previous year perfecting that practice while on the run with Harry. She silently cast a spell that undid the fastening of Draco's robes and shirt. While he was slightly taken aback by this move, he silently appreciated her use of wordless magic. "Damn that mudblood. I'll show her," he thought.

Draco released her wrists in lieu of the nape of her neck. His hand entwined in her curls and for a fleeting moment the idea of being able to continually touch that softness flooded his mind. He had to stop this, but how could he admit defeat to her? To this inferior magical abomination? This muggle-born that should not have this kind of power.

As Draco leaned back to break off the kiss, a satisfying thought occurred to him along the lines of Hermione being love sick after this and him not giving her the time of day. However, that is not what happened. With his body retreating Hermione's only thought was that he felt he was winning and she could not have that. She needed to unnerve him beyond just the kiss.

She slowly traversed her hands up the plane of his torso, over the definition that were his abdominal muscles. He reflexively tensed at the sensation of her soft, warm hands caress. Further up she went until her hands entwined behind his neck releasing a whispered moan into his mouth. She nibbled at his bottom lip once more but this time he responded fully, darting his tongue inside of her mouth gingerly.

He tasted of apples and whiskey, she thought. It was slightly intoxicating and for a moment she forgot the aim of this kiss, to humiliate him with the knowledge that he willing snogged a mudblood, willingly snogged her. She on the other hand tasted of vanilla and cinnamon along with other earthy spices. It was invigorating, and he was drowning in that taste now. Damned mudblood, she should not make him respond like this.

With that thought Draco pushed Hermione off of him with a look of disgust and horror on his face. As he stomped out of the empty classroom and into the deserted hallway she thought to herself, "serves him right for trying to intimidate me. I'll bet he never forgets what just happened. In fact I know he won't because I will always remind him." She left just after he did with a satisfied smirk on her face and a bounce in her step. She had bested Malfoy at his own game nothing would be able to dampen her spirits now it seemed.


	2. Professors Exchange

Professors Exchange

"Professor!"

The shrillness in her otherwise breezy voice carried lazily on the air. The audacity of that man had no limit. While her limit should have been reached previously, Luna was accustomed to turning the other cheek since her time as a student at Hogwarts herself. But this, this was the last straw.

"Yes Miss Lovegood," came his slow deliberate drawl. "I assume with you in here some unfortunate soul has been afflicted by nargles again?" This last bit coming out on the tail end of a sneer and condescending note of arrogance.

"Why is it that you insist so much on degrading my expertise? If it hadn't been for the wrackspruts and fliglits you and I both know you would have crossed the veil when that horrid snake bit you."

Professor Snape regarded her intently, and no student in the still full classroom dared say anything. Professor Lovegood was notoriously known for being flighty and while most of her statements where of a whimsical nature, her astute aloofness begged to be interpreted as wise and caring. No student in the five years since the end of the war, nor the seven years during her education at Hogwarts, had ever heard her actually raise her voice nor scorn one of the administrative personnel. What could have possibly happened to cause her to storm into the dungeon in this manner?

"Wrackspruts and fliglits? Are you actually out of your mind Miss Lovegood or do you enjoy rambling about nonsensical creatures that have never been proven to exist? Besides that, what are you doing in here anyway?"

Luna's normally bright expressive eyes narrowed and darkened as she regarded the slithery man before her. The innocuous and somewhat vacuous smile felt out of place on her face as she next spoke. "Why Severus I thought a man of your _intellect_ should be able to discern what this is regarding. Or are my intuitions failing me?"

Professor Snape in all honesty had no idea what she was talking about. What in Merlins name had he done recently, or said recently to her? He was at such an utter loss for the source of her wrath towards him and that just didn't sit well with him. How should he go about asking her. Bluntly, indirectly, or moodily brooding stare until she blurts it out? There were so many options for Snape to choose from with this utterly nutter woman.

"Luna what in the bloody hell are you going on about?" This innocuous, very Severus statement elicited the smallest of chuckles from a student in the back of the classroom. He would have to figure out who it was to either award them points for his house or to deduct them if it was deemed a Gryffindor.

"I know you sent them Severus. No other person here has the capabilities nor the insight to know what my favourite flower is. And while," Luna held up her hand to stop his protest she could feel coming, after all he had to save face in front of all of these students. "I very much appreciate the gesture I assure you that there will be absolutely no over looking your last terrorisation of my charges."

The befuddled look that graced his face, if you could call it gracing, elicited another snicker from the students. _There will definitely be points deducted now._ I don't care what house it is. "Again I will repeat myself Professor, what in Merlins name are you talking about?"

Luna blinked a few times in rapid succession as what Snape was saying sunk in and a look of realisation dawned on her face. "You mean you didn't send them with a rather explicit love letter outlining what you would like for us to do attached to it?"

The sheer innocence on her face after making her statement caused a surplus of raucous laughter to erupt from every corner of the room. Her eyes that had been narrowed in annoyance resumed their rather large occupation of her facial features. To say they resumed the size of the moon would have been an understatement and Severus, for all his trying, couldn't help but chuckle and shake his head at such ludicrous absurdity.

"Professor Lovegood," he began as he shook his head in disbelief," do I appear to be the kind of man to bestow flowers as a token of affection let alone as a veiled attempt at reconciling a wrong, which I do not admit was a wrong?"

"Hmm..perhaps not. It quite possibly could just be a misdirection from the nollywhatsits that led me to believe it was you. Good day."

With that Luna turned on her heal and removed herself from the classroom just as quickly as she entered it. As the door to the potions classroom shut the students could make out her muffled voice referring to nargles and them being a far fetched idea for causing this ruckus. Snape just stared at the now closed door is disbelief while trying to wrap his head around what exactly that was. Just as he was about to admonish his class for their lack of tact, mainly in regards to their snickering on his behalf, the door swung open again. Prepared to chastise the flighty professor once more, he was taken aback by the deeply male voice that echoed through the dungeon.

"Professor Snape! Have you seen Luna? I have to tell her it was me. She'll never believe it was me unless I tell her myself"

"Longbottom what are you going on about? Does it look like that airy, dunder is in here?" The sneer and aggravation was barely veiled as he spoke to his least favourite former pupil.

"N-no sir. S-sorry to bug you." With that Neville departed the classroom as well. Whatever was going on Severus didn't want to know what it was. The nitwitted Gryffindor and space cadet Ravenclaw weren't his problem and he no longer fancied, not that he had ever fancied for that matter, being involved in this ridiculousness any longer.

"Don't forget the powdered dragon fang before you run out of time," he snapped at the class before they all ruined their draught. _She did look cute all in a tissy I wonder what that flower was._ He would never admit it out loud, but curiosity is something no man was immune to when faced with her ire.


	3. Boom

Boom!

The midsummer rains finally made their appearance and the ensuring thunder all but deafened Harry. Since the war it took all he had not to cower in the basement at 13 Grimwauld Place when these violent storms occurred, and currently he wasn't in that familiar place. No, instead he was at the Burrow trying to be ok around everyone for longer than five minutes.

Boom!

Another raucous thrum of thunder. Another blinding bolt of lightning. As much as Harry told himself it's just rain, It's just a storm his subconscious threw him back into the fray.

 _"Harry get down!" Hermiones voice carried across the courtyard just as a curse bolted past his head. Already his fellow students were falling at the hands of the Death Eaters. They were not discerning between the classes. Slytherins, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were laying waste in the heavy morning air._

 _The battle of Hogwarts was decimating the shelter and safety that so many knew. All around him shrapnel from cruse after curse flew none discriminately hitting any and every thing in their paths. Giants Acrumantulas, Death Eaters, even Professor Flitwick had fallen, his eyes still open with nothing but sheer terror in them. The northern most turret, where Ravenclaw tower had stood, was a crumbling mess, cascading stone and mortar around the bustling courtyard._

 _Boom!_

 _Curses once again were flying past his head as he darted forward. The flashes came in an array of colours. Blue, red, yellow even green was seen flying from friend and foe alike. While the Order members were trying not to kill, the other party was most definitely trying for more than maiming._

 _"We have to get inside!" Harry yelled in the general direction that Ron and Hermione were going. "I know the last horcrux is in there."_

 _Boom!_

 _A massive chunk came barrelling down demolishing the drawbridge just as the trio crossed. Harry's innate luck was definitely something tangible if that was any indication._

Boom!

"Harry dear, are you okay?" The maternal voice of Molly broke through his memory. He had no idea when he began shivering nor when the rain started but both seemed eminently true.

He blinked his eyes rapidly trying to get the remnants of his flashback out of his immediate vision. They weren't as bad as they had been, but part of him knew they would never truly go away. How could they? The trials and tribulations of war had been his life since he discovered he was a wizard all those years ago.

Boom!

 _"Harry it hurts! Please help."_

 _Her voice was slowing. He knew she must be dying and that the veil was close but what could he do? Nagini attacked with such a ferociousness that the fact she was able to still even attempt to speak was remarkable. What could he do? She was suffering, he had to show her compassion. They were the only ones on this floor, in this corridor. What could he do?_

 _"I'm sorry Padma. Please forgive me."_

 _Padma closed her eyes and Harry did the only thing he could do to relieve her pain. He would never remember speaking the Unforgivable but he knew it happened because of the sickly green spark erupting from his wand._

 _In the distance he heard his name again. "Harry!"_

Boom!

"Harry! Harry dear. Dear Merlin, Harry!" Mrs. Weasly was shaking him by the shoulders trying to snap him out of it. "Ginny come out here quick and bring a bit of chocolate! Hurry! Harry, Harry please respond"

The shawl she had draped across her shoulders was deftly placed on to his in a fluid motion. Her warm motherly embrace brought him some grounding, but not quite enough as another rumble of thunder coursed it's way through the silence.

Boom!

 _Harry knew it was time. He didn't tell anyone where he was going, he didn't need them trying to talk him out of it. Or more dangerously to try and follow risking their own lives. He knew now what the prophecy was referring to; neither can live while the other survives. In order to defeat Voldemort he was going to have to die, his death would ensure everyone else the chance to live._

 _So many had already perished. Fred, Remus, Tonks, his mom and dad, Sirius, Dobby. He would be damned if anyone else lost their life because of him. He would gain their forgiveness by sacrificing himself._

 _As he entered the clearing where Voldemort was camped he took his final breath. There would be no cowardice, no hiding, no trying to escape his fate. He was ready. He closed his eyes as the vibrant green of the killing curse hit him._

 _Boom!_

 _"Professor?"_

 _"Yes my boy?"_

 _"Is this real? Or is it all in my head?"_

 _"My dear boy, of course it's all in your head but that doesn't mean it can't be real."_

Boom!

Ginny sat next to Harry in silence, rubbing lazy circles on his back, as the murky shadows dancing in his eyes slowly ebbed away. He was regaining focus and was beginning to make out his surroundings. Where a moment before he was in Kings Cross station speaking with Dumbeldore about being dead, now he was outside on the back stoop of the Burrow. The rumbling thunder growing quiet as the storm passed.

He was warm, warmer than he had been when he sat down, noticing the hand stitched shawl across his shoulders. Ginny held up a still steaming mug of cocoa, which Harry took effortlessly and gave her small hand an affectionate squeeze.

She smiled at him as he tipped the offered drink back. The warmth and chocolate helped ease his tension, ease his walking nightmares back into their depths. As he laid his head on her shoulder there was only one thought that came to mind:

He would be ok. Because of his friends, no not his friends his family because that is what they had become, because of them and their love and support he knew he would be ok.


	4. Dungeon Stories

"I do not own Harry Potter nor anything relating to Harry Potter or the Harry Potter franchise. I also do not own Peter Pan nor any likenesses herein. Harry Potter is registered to JK Rowling and Peter Pan is Great Ormands Street Children's Hospital'

recently edited and corrected for the gibberish that wound up being posted. Sorry about that. However, please do enjoy.

{~*~}

All of the first years were congregated in the furthest room of the deepest part of the dungeons. They didn't need to be witnessing the devastation and destruction of their home. They didn't need to be seeing the death of friends and possibly family. They didn't need any of it in their lives.

Hannah Abbott had taken it upon herself to keep them distracted and safe. Dennis Creavy was among them. When they were being shepherded from their common rooms he grabbed the one thing he knew his brother would miss, his camera, and the tattered and well loved novel Peter Pan. He figured it would be awhile before they were able to leave the confines of the dungeon so reading would be a good time killer.

While the war ragged on above them, distant thrums and crashes echoed violently within their haven. As much as Hannah tried to keep them from noticing with twinkling fairy lights and her patronus flitting about, the first years grew ever more anxious and restless. They were on edge, and they were very very much afraid. If a the crashes resonated too closely or too loudly some of the first years would scream or cry. How could she keep them safe?

The only one not perturbed by these sounds was Dennis. He sat in one of the supple soft armchairs with his gangly legs draped over the side as he silently lost himself to his novel. Hannah had never heard of this Peter Pan nor did the author JM Barrie ring a bell so she went over to investigate what he was reading, partly to make sure it was appropriate for his age and partly out of sheer curiosity.

"Dennis, what are you reading?" She asked as she sat down cross legged on the floor in front of him.

"This? Oh it's just a book my mum got for me. It has pirates and fairies. Sword fights and flying in it. I love this story ever since before we knew Colin and I were wizards. My mum read it to us every night before bed." Dennis said this last bit in just over a whisper.

"What is a pirate?" Asked one of the Slytherin first years. Hannah recognised him from the bouts of teaching that the maniacal and demented Carrows had, but she couldn't recall is name.

"Well according to this story pirates are bad people that hurt kids and all pirates are adults. But there is a little boy named Peter Pan that fights the pirates with his Lost Boys." The little boys eyes glittered at the mention of other children fighting against adults that would harm them. As Dennis continued to describe the story more and more of the first years started to turn their attention towards him until eventually the whole room was paying attention and hanging on his every word. "It wound up being a rather popular play as well," Dennis finished up as he noticed thirty pairs of eyes trained on him and thirty pairs of ears listening to him.

The apt attention he had garnered gave Hannah an idea. "Dennis could I see your book please?"

He didn't know what she wanted with it, and for a fleeting moment he worried that she would harm it. However, the look of interest and kindheartedness belied his initial thought and he handed the book over to her. The worn leather of the cover was soft in her hands and the edges of the pages were slightly yellowed. Every few there were crease marks from where someone had lovingly marked their place by dog earing the corner. All of the writing on the cover was worn so that just the imprint was left behind without any of the original ink. She could feel the love from every time it had been read.

"All children except one grow up, and his name was Peter Pan."* Hannah started reading and as each word flowed from her lips the scenes were laid out in front of them. The room, somehow, was altering itself with each idea that passed from the storybook. The children were enraptured and gathered closely around her. Dennis had sat up in his armchair so that two other children could sit with him. The others say or laid on their stomachs in a semicircle imagining the scenes unfolding.

"'Boy, why are you crying?' Asked Wendy. 'I can't get my shadow to stick, and I'm not crying' said the distraught little boy. 'I could sew it on for you if you like' with that Wendy grabbed her needle and thread and eagerly went to work sewing the strange little boys shadow back on."**

"How do you sew a shadow back on?" Asked a little girl from Hufflepuff.

"No, how do you lose your shadow?" Asked the astute child from Ravenclaw.

"Is it Peter that lost his shadow?"

The questions were coming a mile a minute from all directions and from every child in the room and Hannah couldn't help but smile. They were entranced and preoccupied and no longer afraid at the moment.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "But if you quiet down I will continue reading to you."

"'What's your name?" Inquired the little boy that sat patiently on her bedpost. 'Wendy Moira Angela Darling. What's your name?' 'Peter Pan' he answered matter of factly'"***

"I knew it was him!" Shouted the same little girl from the back earlier.

As the story wore on the glittering enthusiasm of each child in the room was invigorating. Each crash and loud noise was no longer something to fear in that room because the story had taken them to a place with pirate ships that shot cannons. The smell of fire from the halls elicited awe and wonder as they learned of Princess Tiger Lily and the way her people celebrated around a large outdoor fire called a bonfire.

The sheer innocence of the room magnified as the tale of Wendy being deemed their 'mother', because she read them stories and took care of them when they were sick, caused each little eye to shimmer. It was spectacular for Hannah to watch in amazement as the wonder and whimsy of Peter Pan wound and twisted around them in not only words but scenes that each first year was able to interpret their own way.

"When the first baby laughed, that laugh broke off into tiny little pieces and that was the beginning of fairies"****

"I'm sorry Hannah but that is entirely incorrect. Fairies aren't born from babies laughing," stated Fauna a little girl from Hufflepuff that was remarkably reminiscent of Luna.

"Fauna, in this story that is how they came to exist. Muggles don't know about how magical beasts came to exist or that they do exist so we will just go along with it being this way for them ok?" Fauna nodded her head and Hannah went back to reading. This time it was about how Tinkerbell came to be with the Lost Boys and the time Tinkerbell almost died because someone didn't believe in fairies. Almost everyone laughed when they heard about muggles clapping to revive dead or dying fairies. Everyone cried when Tinkerbell did die after drinking poison intended for Peter.

As the story neared its close Hannah noticed that the first years had all started nodding off into peaceful slumber. The ones in the chairs were slumped together and the only one she could still see awake was Dennis.

"Do you want me to finish Dennis?"

"Oh yes please. If you don't mind" he was slowly falling to sleep as well, but he had never stayed awake long enough to hear the ending read aloud. Just as sleep was completely overtaking him he heard Hannah's whisper soft voice finish the tale, "When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless."*****

When Luna found them later on that day she would tell everyone that there was no house division present. There was just peace and innocence in that room along with a distinct lack of nargles that were notoriously in that area of the dungeons. Colin's camera that had laid on one of the tables had a picture of the sleeping children and Hannah. All of them with smiles on their faces, all of them keeping the next company in their dreams. But Luna would never admit to taking the picture, because it must have been one of the fairies in the fairy lights that glowed happily about.

{~*~}

* Opening line from Peter Pan novel

**-*** excerpts from Peter Pan novel and various Peter Pan movies

***** Ending line from Peter Pan by JM Barrie


	5. The Serpent and The Hare

She sat there, cross legged on the floor, willing the words to flow into the parchment from her quill. Hermione Granger was brilliant book wise but, artistic and creative? Those were two adjectives that had never described her. Sure, she had read her fair share of literature, everything from the whimsical world of Wonderland to American Civil War era of Pride and Prejudice.

She sat there, cross legged on the floor, now absentmindedly tapping the quill against her bottom lip. The splashes and blotches of ink staining everything from her robes to the table legs. Even her parchment was not safe from her overthinking.

All of the whimsical ideas she grew up with would be scrutinised over their lack of accuracy. There were texts regarding unicorns and how they were not attracted to virgins, there were texts regarding sphinxes and their riddles. Hell there were even texts about dragons that accurately described how and what they could and could not do. Her classmates would scoff at the absurdity that she would inevitably create thanks in large part to the muggle literature she grew up knowing.

What on Earth could she write about for this bloody class?! Nothing. Nothing she could write would make sense. Nothing she could come up with in her imagination would register as a fairy tale or original work in her creative writing course that Hogwarts had adopted for her eight year. So she sat, cross legged on the floor, contemplating what to write.

"Granger! What the bloody hell are you doing aside from making an abhorrent mess of things?" Draco was barely hiding his contempt and the humour he found at her expense. The gitty lilt in his voice a maddening laugh at her failure.

"Sod off ferret," she quietly grumbled. He was not going to help in this matter.

The library was hardly the place for her to fall apart and not be productive she knew, but what in the hell was she going to write about?

"Granger, you seem to be in need of assistance. And while I am most gentlemanly to offer assistance, I feel it would be most unbecoming to do so. So, in light of that I'm offering it to you, if for no other reason than you are splashing ink everywhere!" This last bit as a great splotch landed on the lowest hem of his robes.

"Fine," she sighed in defeat. "I'm stuck on this assignment. I can't do creative writing. Why did I sign up for this?" An angry frustrated tear rolled down her cheek as she sat, cross legged on the floor, balling up the now ruined piece of parchment that was nothing but a myriad of splotches.

"Well it is a grand thing I can help with that then huh?" His arrogance was astounding. Did it have no end? "Perhaps you could turn something you know personally into a fable of sorts. While it would be cliché, most creative writings are."

This sound bit of advise actually rang true as Hermione mentally ran through the list of tropes typically written about. Love between enemies, damsels in distress, princes and princesses. It all wound up the same. It all ended up the same. The hero would get the girl, the enemies would reconcile their differences for true love, a kiss would seal the fate. But where to start.

"Ok ferret, where should I start then seeing how you know so bloody much about this?" Her resolve waning as the implications of taking his ideas into consideration.

"That's easy. Start with two main characters. One male one female and name them."

She thought about it, a handsome man, though not traditionally handsome. Rude and crass that somehow was sweet and kind in private away from prying eyes. "How about Serpens for the male and Lepus for the female?" Hermione rather liked the idea of constellations as names and the title of The Serpent and the Hare sounded rather intriguing.

"I think those two names would suit you main characters wonderfully," the earnestness in his voice caused her falter just momentarily. "Next describe them. Their physical traits, their mental traits."

Hermione thought about it and decided that the hare would be wild and bushy, fur brown as a chestnut, not that it had her characteristics at all mind you. The Serpent would be bright, almost reminiscent of alabaster. It would be cunning and crafty, not unlike a certain thorn in her side that she was begrudgingly thanking for his help and patience.

"Very good. Now give a scenario for them," Draco prompted eagerly. Was she going to have them be bitter rivals, or would the be a love interest he wondered.

"They meet in the woods," Hermione started tentatively, hoping beyond hope that he didn't catch the reference to him.

They continued this way into the wee hours. Occasionally walking around to stretch out a cramp, or noticing a plate of sweets a house elf must have sneaked into the library. Hermione still sat, cross legged on the floor, but now Draco was sat there the same way right next to her. Helping string out the story of the lost two characters of her story. Every now and then Draco would Neal a furtive glacé at her as her hand deftly wrote down their ideas in a cohesive thought.

The way her eyes glittered as she wrote out her narrative was incredible. He had never seen such dedication, never lived it with someone first hand. The final flourish of her quill brought him out of his musings regarding her attention to details. He aptly listened as she read her short story out loud, making notations when a sentence or thought didn't flow the way she wished.

"...and so they lived. Forever loving each other, but knowing to be together would be disastrous for them both." She looked at Draco then wondering what he thought about what she wrote. Expecting to see the boredom and tediousness of helping her etched on his face. But it wasn't there.

"Lovely," he whispered, as he leaned over to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. "Just lovely." With that he walked out of the library wishing wholeheartedly that he wasn't such a serpent.

{~*~}

Dedicated to shamelessbookaddict for requesting I do another entry for my short stories.


	6. Please

As always I do not own any part of the Harry Potter universe they are solely belonging to JK Rowling

{~*~}

His pulse quickened. Why would it start here? Why would his heart race here of all places? He was home, with his mother. She was calmness and serenity and poise. Why would he be kicked into over drive to flee just by stepping over the threshold? The maniac of a monster was gone, the blood cleaned up, the screams silenced, so why would he panic like this? It's not as though there was anything inherently scary about the manor, just the memories of his basement becoming a torturous dungeon, his hallways echoing with screams of muggles and muggle borns at hands of his demented followers.

The floors had been striped of the ancient wood and stone that now carried a haunting familiarity of the sinister activities that engulfed the manor. In place of the darkened hawthorn panels that were initially used, white birch and ash interwove adding in healing the home and those that enter with protection and a sense of new beginnings. However for Draco, somethings couldn't be made new or healed with magic and ancient lore. Whenever he returned home, returned to his wartime prison, he saw them. He heard them. Every waking moment he spent here these ghosts crossed his mind. Every time he thought about it, he was reminded of what his role was and it chocked him.

His breathing was now shallow and forced, stinging his lungs with every heavy draw of breath he made. The nervous shaking of his extremities worsened the further he made it into the parlour. She had laid there, begging and pleading with her eyes for him to help her. _Please_.

She wouldn't utter the word but he knew the intent behind it. He could have stopped it, stopped her, stopped his aunt. The antiquated rug that Hermione's body had unceremoniously been thrown against had long since been removed, healing spells added to reinforce the pure blackthorn flooring that replaced what had been lying underneath during her attack. _Please_.

Draco closed his eyes, trying desperately to will away the screams that emanated from her petite form. Every time he was in this room, he saw her writhing on the floor, screaming as another crucio curse was hurled at her as the former one barely started to descend in its pain. He could still see her fingers twitching slightly as the aftershocks coursed their way through her being. Her normally, absurdly, bushy hair a tangled mess from the torture. From the torture she endured on his drawing room floor because he couldn't help her. _Please_.

He wanted to run, he had to run. Run where though? He had to see his mother and it was quicker to go through the manor than to traverse the whole of the property just to get to the gardens. He just really wanted to run. The tears he could see in her eyes as she had laid there, pleading for a release, for it to stop, for him to help. Why couldn't he just run?!

Because she deserved better, that's why. He couldn't run from what he didn't do. He couldn't run from what he did do. He couldn't run. He was paralysed. Paralysed in the room, in the spot that he had stood when he watched her dying on the floor, but was he really?

'Think Draco, what were you taught about grounding?' He was mentally reminding himself of the techniques he was shown to help him cope when this happened. 'Five things remember? You only have to find five things. A deep breath in and a deep breath out. Focus Draco.' He admonished himself.

'First thing the walls are yellow now. Mother painted them last year.' Draco took a deep breath, closed his eyes and when he opened them again gone were the mahogany walls. In their place were soft butter yellow panels with dainty monarchs enchanted to flit about. Breath out.

'Second thing the floor is bare.' Breath in. His heart rate was slowing down now. The family rug that bore the Malfoy crest was gone, in its stead was just the pale ash and birch floor. Breath out

'Third thing there is no screaming. It's quiet.' Breath in. The only noise in the manor was the ambient him from the soft breeze outside and somewhere was a harp playing softly. Breath out.

'Fourth thing Aunt Bella is not here. I am alone in this room.' Breath in. His heart rate slowed even further and his need to run abated. Bella couldn't hurt him, or anyone for that matter any more. Breath out.

'Fifth thing, Hermione is' as he thought about the fifth grounding thought Hermione slipped her warm hand in his. While he still shook a bit, the trembling was as far away from his mind as the images of the previous drawing room was, 'with me'. Breath in and breath out.

"I'm proud of you, you know?" Hermione said as she beamed up at him. She knew what he had been doing, after all it was her idea to learn how to cope. It had been four years since he had come to visit his mother, and if he could make it out to see her, he would know that he wasn't entirely broken. He was cracked yea, but he wasn't so broken that he couldn't be able to mend pieces with time. As Draco looked down at her he heard he plea one more time _please_ , but in it there was a playfulness and an excitement about the things he could and would do in the world, when he was ready.  
{~*~}

Dedicated to bentnotbroken1 for her lovelines and understanding ear.


	7. Sorrow

'The time for sorrow has passed' they would say. All of them would say it, but they didn't understand the hurt and the emptiness that was left inside of her heart. That dull ache that no matter what and no matter how much time passes it hit with such a sudden eruption that it was crippling. She was drowning in it, if only to break the surface and take in a few more life saving breaths.

'You couldn't have known' was another favourite epithet, but the thing was there had to have been signs, subtle little nuances that she could have picked up on sooner. Perhaps he started saying 'I love you' more or stopped reading the Prophets gossip column. There must have been some sign.

'You have to let him go' was said so frequently that she was sure no single person on this god forsaken planet knew what letting go meant. Because letting him go meant not remembering the time that he fell out of that tree on their second date, or when he had to be rushed to the hospital wing because he was a right little twit in class, or that his favourite colour was purple and not green like everyone assumed. It also meant not remembering the loving touch of his hand on her back or the nasally twitter of his laugh when it was genuine.

'Are you ok?' Most left it alone with a simple 'yeah sure' or 'I'm good thanks' with that fake watery smile that becomes plastered on your face when you try to convince yourself and the world that you aren't slowly dying inside from the pain and the loss. Very few saw through that to the tiny fragile being huddled in darkness just wanting to scream and rip out their hair. Very few just hugged her and whispered the little phrases that allowed her to break apart so she could try to heal. Phrases like 'you don't have to pretend to be ok' and 'you don't have to talk' while just holding onto her and grounding her back into the now instead of the past.

She functioned if for no other reason than her child needed her. He needed her to be strong and a rock. He needed her to be there to comfort him when he thought of his dad, when birthdays rolled around and Draco wasn't there with him, when Christmas lite up the world in cheer and there was no more impersonated Santa Clause. She had to stay steadfast because she knew one day the questions would come from Scorpius. The 'why did he do it' and 'didn't father love us'? She had to function so that she was strong for when those moments arose in just a few years.

But at night when the world lay still and sleeping she would allow herself to feel. She would allow herself to mourn the way that she wasn't allowed to during waking hours. She would shed tears of sorrow reading over the hand written notes he left behind apologising for hurting her so, and she would cry tears of happiness going through the photo albums they had accumulated through their years together. But sometimes she would just cry to release the frustration and anger, and dare she admit it, hatred of the man that destroyed her heart after making her love him so very much.

Morning always came after those horribly long excruciating nights with her eyes rimmed red, sore to even open. Her throat would be painful from the quiet sobbing she would partake in during the night, ever so mindful of her son sleeping just beyond her door. Her boudoir was stocked with elixirs to heal her insides from the ravishing of sobs and quick spells would freshen up her appearance for the world outside. But on these mornings she would be hollow and empty and a shell of her self, until her little brown eyed silver haired child would come bounding up to her. Then she would try again, for him.

She would always try again, she would always be vigilant of all the changes in him. Her love left her, he couldn't deal with his internal turmoil any longer, the horrible things he did during the war, the obtrusive things he did before Hermione gave him a life worth living. She would be hell bent on not allowing her son, her remaining link to the man she loved more than life to remove himself like his father had. She just couldn't. So with that Hermione dealt with the 'you have to let him go' s and the 'are you ok' s and the 'you couldn't have known' s. She just had to. She had to survive.

So at night Hermione would once again re read the letters he left behind, she would sob and then in the morning she would once again pretend to live and try not to break down in front of the world. She wouldn't let the world know she visited his grave or that she missed him so very much. She wouldn't let her would be suitors know that she refused their proposals because she would rather be a spinster than to try and move on from the man that left her shattered and broken.

'Time heals all wounds' was the last of the sayings and it hurt to hear. It hurt to hear that from her friends, and from her assumed family. It hurt to hear her sons grandmother say that as though she herself did not still mourn the child she raised and had known for far longer than Hermione could ever have hoped. Time wouldn't heal this hurt. She couldn't allow time to heal her hurt.


End file.
